I just read your posts about what Marsha went through with Mick and his lack of parental support towards his first born child with her. Very informative and well written! Now I'm wondering what are your thoughts on Mick Jagger being a father to his 8th kid, and at 73? I feel so bad for his kids, and Marsha seemed to be genuinely in love with him, unlike some of the other mothers. Ronnie Wood isn't far behind him either...
My thoughts? I think Mick Jagger is an 80 year old geezer who's with a woman young enough to be his grandchild! 🥴🤢 He's dogged A LOT of women in his life, especially Marsha Hunt. I mean, twelve years is a LONG time not to see your fucking kid, especially for no damn reason. Now, idk if he loves this girl, but he's probably with her because she's young and pretty, cuz....that's what men like him do. But now, the mf has 8 kids (half of whom are older than her) by 5 different women (most of whom he cheated on the previous one with). Just nasty! In the words of Keith Richards, "Mick's a randy old bastard."
i hate you law of attraction i hate you blaming bad things on innocent people i hate you manifesting i hate you scammers i hate every choice + feeling you have being moralized i hate you evangelical white supremacy disguised as new age spirituality
I follow a lot of people on this. Some are my friends. But I saw one of the people I follow post a reblog today that was supposedly about why trade work and trade schools are suffering so much & they mentioned 'diy abortion'. Umm, no. Nope, that's not related. I don't care what your buddy supports politically. But saying they support that? That's abominable.
Do yall understand what that is? Its not the 'traveling to get one' that roe v wade rule has caused or having a midwife perform one. It's not the threat of desperation causing someone to seek out a back alley dr. Nope, this is the hanger shit that horror stories are made of. This has no place in a post about trades and workers.
And if, IF, thats not what they meant? Maybe don't talk about abortion when you're talking about trade jobs.
If someone had told Red Hood that he was going to climb through the wrong window at one of his many safe houses, he’d have laughed and flipped them off. Not just because it probably would have been the Demon Brat saying it and disregarding the little fucker would certainly get under his skin. And piss off Bruce. No. Jason was definitely too careful to make a mistake like that.
Well, until tonight.
To be fair, he had been shot. Twice. A through and through in his side, hopefully not damaging anything important, and once in the arm. But that might’ve been a graze. Going by pain, it hurt less than his side. Somewhere between “I need a bandaid” and “stepping on an infinite number of Legos with sharp teeth” on the pain scale. Honestly, he didn’t even want to look until he was safe. It’s not a problem if I can’t see it. And he was currently not safe judging by the sword the resident of this apartment held at his throat.
The first thing he noted was that she wasn’t afraid. In fact, she seemed hella pissed. Her beautiful blue eyes flashed in the moonlight. Most people, when they saw the helmet, along with his stature (Dickface said he was built like a tank) and intimidating presence, well, they got a little scared. This woman stood resolute, calm and determined in the face of danger. She had the presence of an Amazonian warrior. Now, Jason wasn’t much of a betting man, but he’d have put money down on her winning this fight.
Too many voices were vying for dominance in his mind. A part of him thought that if he could get the sword away from his throat, he stood a fighting chance of getting away. Another part considered his injuries. He was lightheaded already which was not a good sign. He needed to get out of here and get help fast. Another part geeked out over the sword. It was exquisite. This woman really had taste. The ornate filigree handle looked like a Swiss rapier, circa late 1600s. But the blade was not fragile like a rapier. In fact, it looked more like a sturdy longsword. Like she had taken pieces of history and meshed them together to create a sword that was beautiful but deadly. Another very small voice thought she was beautiful. He tried to ignore the last one it definitely wouldn’t help him here and hatch a plan to escape. She stepped further into the moonlight and all thoughts flew out of his head. He could have sworn her eyes were ice blue. Now they were a familiar bright green; practically glowing. Where had he seen that color before?
Trying to think made his head all fuzzy. Oh well. Time for some introductions. He felt like a seasoned warrior out to meet a new friend or foe. Attempting to speak felt like an impossible task.
“Hi.” He choked out, his voice gravelly and menacing with the helmet on.
“Hi Mister Red Hood!” A boy’s voice rang out from behind the woman. Oh shit. There was a kid. How did he not see a kid? Why was there a kid here?! He glanced around and noticed the sparse furniture along with a few moving boxes stacked in the corner. He… did he have the wrong apartment? This was his safe house in the Narrows. As far as he knew, no one lived on his floor or in the apartments above or below his. That’s what made this safe house perfect. It was convenient. It was safe.
The woman whispered something to the boy. He couldn’t tell if the words she spoke in a foreign yet all too familiar language were what made his blood run cold. Or the rapid blood loss was getting to him. Right. He needed help. Now. That forced him back into focus. He could feel his thoughts slowly slipping away. He grabbed onto the edge of the windowsill he’d just climbed through, grunting in pain at the sudden gush of blood coming from his side.
The woman tentatively lowered her sword, concern etched on her face. Good. This was good. He was… what was he doing? A wave of dizziness washed over him and he fell backward onto the floor. Black started forming around the edges of his vision. The woman rushed to his side and leaned over him. Her touch was light as she quickly assessed his wounds. Her hair enveloped his vision, so all he could see was her beautiful face. She was talking to him, face to face, er well, helmet, but he couldn’t hear her. Her voice distorted and muffled.
His last thought was, “Damn she’s pretty.” Before succumbing to sleep.
Me: Oh boy 7pm! Time to go on tumblr and see the reactions to my comic- *Most recent notes say "Eww what the fuck" and the other says "I had a stroke trying to read this"*
Me: Oh damn okay, more Sesbian Lex in a few weeks then gotcha
drew some art of my least favorite character in existence (yes, I hate this *thing* more than Bunger and Chatot from PMD EoT,D, and S). I’ve made this *thing* more realistic by turning him into what he really is, a Traffic Cone that explodes and never reappears ever again.
(I’m sure the people who follow me for Patapon and Bugsnax stuff probably won’t know what this is referring to but ah well lmao)